Page 73 of The Golden Scoop

“My goodness, I’ve heard so much about you, sweetheart. I’m Eleanor, this little biscuit’s forgotten mom.”

Matt groans. He’s done this to himself. I hadn’t even thought about all the embarrassing stories I’m going to hear about him.

“Whatever he’s said, I’m sure at least half of it is a lie,” I joke.

“I don’t think so, babe. You don’t do his words’ justice, but I think that’s less about him and more about how pretty you are.”

I blush instantly. She waves it off and brings me in with a warmth so genuine it makes me sad that she’s out here all by herself, without her son.

“I’m so sorry we dropped in like this; I should’ve brought something,” I tell her.

“You brought him home,” she says like I had everything to do with it. “That’s enough for me.”

“Oh, don’t start, Mom,” Matt says, pushing us both inside.

He shoots me a look I can’t quite read.

“Did you kids have dinner? I can cook something quickly.”

“We had a lovely meal at the FAF gala tonight,” Matt says, dropping our bags.

The house has an open-floor layout. Cozy, a little dated, but meticulously kept. We walk straight into the living room, which opens to a small kitchen at the back. There’s a window right above the sink overlooking a little garden.

Hallways branch off to the sides; I’m assuming to the bedrooms. The furniture is straight out of the 90s, like my folks had before they moved. Floral couches, open shelving with stacked VHS tapes, most looking homemade.

Eleanor makes some tea, pairing it with an old photo album that keeps Matt’s teenage years safely inside. The visit is easy in a way I’m not used to. She asks questions about me, my family, but they’re not invasive. More curious than prying.

“So, Emma,” she says after a while, “are you surviving him?”

I glance at Matt, pretending I’m considering it. “Barely.”

“Rude,” he mutters.

“It’s called honesty,” I shoot back.

His mom laughs. At first, I think it’s at us, but then I realize she’s holding another picture out toward me.

“Oh no.” Matt leans in. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s not that bad, biscuit.” Eleanor grins.

“It’s terrible.”

“You had this haircut in high school on purpose?” I tease.

“Bowl cuts were a thing back then!”

“For preschoolers, Matthew.”

His mom beams. “I see why you like her.”

I laugh but hearing it come from her makes everything seem… too real. She’s someone I could easily want to keep forever.

Matt looks at me, that same undecipherable secret in his eyes. He must sense my gears turning because he stands, closing the album shut.

“Alright, ladies. Show’s over. Everyone to bed before more evidence surfaces.”

When we finally head down the hall to the left, the tension rises like the slow climb of a rollercoaster right before the drop.